I once did a stint in suburban mall retail hell, mainly because I had developed a slight allergy to red and khaki and figured that the best way to buy a whole new wardrobe (one involving color) was to work in a clothing store. It’s not the most logical reasoning in the world, but in my defense, I have very little common sense. And I was drunk on power, the power of being able to ask myself, “What do I want to wear today?”. One byproduct of wearing the same uniform day in and day (2 pair khaki pants, 3 t-shirts, 1 dress shirt, 2 mock turtlenecks, one sweatshirt, bring your own socks to the party) is that the days tend to bleed together without different outfits to divide them into definite chunks. It’s difficult to remember something when you are unable to say, “Oh, that happened on that day when I was wearing that outfit and doing that thing.” Because “that outfit” is THE ONE OUTFIT YOU OWN.
And I’m sure I started out writing about retail hell (the 7th circle of hell, reserved for people who do not proofread emails, cover letters, and resumes sent to potential employers — and there are many, MANY of you out there) for a reason, but I don’t know what. At least later I’ll remember that I forgot, because it was the day I was wearing the blue shirt and grown-up shoes.